


Anything But Fine

by nwspaprtaxis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Collapsed Lungs, Comfort Objects, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Going to Hell, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Intubation, Oxygen Masks, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Protective Sam Winchester, Season/Series 03, Separation Anxiety, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-19
Updated: 2010-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 23:13:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nwspaprtaxis/pseuds/nwspaprtaxis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Tell me a lie...</em> Dean's in the hospital with Hellhounds and the FBI on his tail, but it's all gonna be okay because Sam's there to stand guard...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anything But Fine

**Author's Note:**

> **_A/N:_** Takes place early/mid S3, after _3x07 FRESH BLOOD_ but before _3x08 A VERY SUPERNATURAL CHRISTMAS_.
> 
> As always, a kazillion thanks and a huge smish to my wickedly fantastic Beta, **mad_server** , for the endless support and editing (and for prompting me to give the real-life experience of oxygen-tube-as-snuggly to Dean).
> 
>  ** _Disclaimer:_** Do not own. Am not making a profit. Just simply having fun with their psyches and returning them slightly more battered to Kripke and Co. and all that Yada Yada. Also, the title and part of the summary comes from a portion of the refrain in _Anything But Fine_ by ZOX, which I do not own or even remotely have the rights to.

Dean looks like crap. He’s chalky-pale, dark purplish shadows under his eyes, lying much too still in the hospital bed, oxygen mask strapped to his face. It’s not a sight Sam will ever get used to; it doesn’t suit his brother. Dean’s all kinetic energy. Even when he’s not in motion, he’s constantly alert, constantly on guard, always on the road, rushing headlong, helter-skelter into life, refusing to take a moment of his rapidly-dwindling last year on Earth for granted, running from the countdown, springing into hunter-mode in the space of a heartbeat.

Sam shifts in his seat, backside numb from sitting in the molded plastic chair. His ankle gives a sharp throb, reminding him that it’s definitely sprained and that taking off his boot is going to be a bitch. He knows he should take care of it — wrap up the swollen joint with the Ace bandage and ice it — but he can’t quite leave Dean yet. Not when Dean’s still under the hold of the general anesthetic. He tells the nurses it’s because his brother hates hospitals. It’s not a total lie, especially after the car crash, but the reality of it is, it’s more for himself than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t want to leave the only person who stuck it out with him, the only other person in the entire universe who survived their childhood, who dragged him out of a burning house — twice — who put up with his depression after Jess, who survived a collision and Dad’s death... and who traded his soul for his. And Sam’s damned if he leaves Dean alone in a hospital, especially with Hellhounds on his tail. It’s the least he can do.

Sam leans forward, elbows on knees, burying his head in his hands, digging his fingers into greasy, unwashed hair. _God, do I need a shower_ , Sam thinks with sigh. He doesn’t know how much more of the waiting he can take. It’s been nearly two hours since a chest tube was inserted to relieve Dean’s ninety-percent collapsed lung; three and a half since Dean doubled over, grabbing the side of chest, barely able to breathe after being thrown into a wall by a ghost and having a desk smashed into him while he was still down.

A low moan in the back of Dean’s throat jerks Sam forward in his seat. Dean doesn’t open his eyes but the pain lines around his eyes deepen and his hands fumble absently to the oxygen mask.

“Hey.” He keeps his voice low, gentle, so as not to startle his brother, but, at the same time, give him something to orient to, standing up gingerly. For someone who can hold his liquor, Dean’s a lightweight when it comes to painkillers. “I’m right here. I’m safe. I’m okay,” Sam tells him, leaning on the rails of the hospital bed, knowing Dean’s inbred priorities and squaring them away as the first order of business. “We’re good. You’ve got a collapsed lung and three broken ribs, though. They’ve put a chest tube in your side and you should be in the clear in a day or two. Just take it easy, all right?”

Dean doesn’t calm; instead, he freaks, hands gripping the mask, fingers trying to pry it off to no avail, hissing and grunting low in his throat. Dean’s eyes snap open.

 _Shit_ , Sam thinks when Dean locks eyes with him. His brother’s nowhere near tracking. He’s panicked, scared, the emotions swirling starkly in his green-hazel eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” Sam hurries to reassure Dean, leaning over his brother, filling his field of vision, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing it, giving him a point of focus and contact. “It’s just oxygen, it’s not a respirator. You’re good. You’re gonna be fine. Just take it easy. Relax. You’re fine.” His words do nothing to reach his brother and Dean tosses his head from side to side, pawing at the mask still trapped to his face.

 _Can’t breathe_. Sam hears the muffled, strangled words sob from his brother’s throat and he punches the call button with his free hand.

“Hey. Hey. I gotcha. Someone’s going to come in a minute. Easy. I’m here. Shhh. Shhh.”

Dean’s eyes are huge with terror, his breath coming hard and fast, exhales fogging up the inside of the mask, one cloud obscuring another without pause or break, chest heaving. His hand shoots up and grabs Sam’s shirtsleeve, fingers clenching and twisting the fabric in a death grip.

Before Sam can call for help, a young nurse enters the room, rushing to Dean’s side when she sees his distress. “Move,” she snaps at Sam. He shifts so he’s flush against the wall, giving her space, not releasing his hold on Dean’s shoulder or pulling his sleeve from Dean’s grasp. “He’s hyperventilating.” Surprisingly, she reaches around Dean’s head and removes the oxygen mask, pulling it away from his face.

Dean gasps and tries to twist to his side but her hands pin him in place. “Easy, sweetie, just breathe. You’re okay, honey. You can breathe. You’re fine. You just gotta take it real slow; it’s just the panic,” she babbles, her voice soothing and Southern-sounding, but Dean’s having none of it, still thirstily gulping for air, fighting against her, trying to curl onto his side, pulling Sam closer.

“Sweetie...” her voice is extra tender, apologetic, as she maneuvers him onto his back again, reaching out to stroke his arm.

Dean jerks away, fixing her with hard green eyes and Sam knows that if he had breath and energy enough, he’d be telling her to fuck off. As it is, his fear and anxiety keep surfacing, undermining his glare. He’s still panting desperately, hand scrabbling at his ribcage.

“He has to calm down,” the nurse whispers to Sam, taking a step back, allowing him to take her place. “He needs to get his breathing under control. Otherwise...” She doesn’t finish and Sam’s silently thankful.

“Hey. Look at me.” Sam makes a fair imitation of Dad and it has the desired effect. Dean’s eyes latch onto Sam and don’t waver as he tethers himself to sanity. Sam’s never been so appreciative of Dean’s blind obedience to the man’s orders. “Listen to me. You need to calm down, okay? There’s no mask. There’s no respirator. It’s gonna be all right. Just breathe with me, okay? I gotcha.”

The panic in Dean’s eyes subsides and Sam makes a conscious effort to breathe slowly and deeply, pulling the air in through his nose and blowing it out. Dean falls into his rhythm, breath hitching a little too fast, but still trying to slow down and stay with Sam’s established rhythm. After another minute, Dean gets it and his fingers go slack, hand falling from Sam’s arm.

“I gotcha,” Sam repeats, dropping the harsh tone as he gives Dean’s shoulder a final, reassuring squeeze before letting go.

The nurse blinks at Sam. “I take it you’re close.” Her gaze flickers back and forth between him and the bed. “Honey,” she turns to Dean, picking up the oxygen mask in her hand, “your lung is still compromised. We need to put this back on.”

“No,” Dean whispers hoarsely. “No. Don’t. Please.”

“But...”

Sam interrupts, “Is there any other option?” He turns the puppy eyes on at full throttle. Dropping his voice to a mumble to spare Dean his next words he presses on, “Y’see, awhile ago my brother was in a bad way and...” He doesn’t finish, feeling Dean’s eyes burning into him, unwavering, trusting him to get his back.

The nurse looks down at her Elmo scrubs, catching her lower lip with her teeth. “There’s something that I might be able to do,” she says aloud as she untwists the mask from the oxygen tube. She slips out of the room and returns with a folded towel. Wrapping the towel around the tube, she tucks it next to Dean, helps him to roll partly on his uninjured side. “It’s not as effective as the mask, but if you keep your face over the oxygen, you should be okay.”

Dean nods, leaning over it.

She flashes to Sam. “If his oxygen levels drop too low, it’s back to the mask, but for now, this should work well enough.” She grins brightly for the first time, catching sight of Sam’s gratitude. “No problem. I see it all the time in the pediatrics ward. Just make sure he’s a good boy. I have to go, but if anything comes up, don’t hesitate to call.”

She’s halfway to the door when Sam notices the nearly-imperceptible tremors coursing along Dean’s arm. Dean stiffens, locking his muscles, clenching his jaw. “Do you have an extra blanket?” he calls to her.

The nurse stops in her tracks, glances at Dean, and nods. “I’ll be right back.” She slips out of the room and returns a couple minutes later with a folded, pre-warmed blanket, handing it to Sam. “This should help. Let me know if you need a second one.” She turns on her heel and leaves, rubber shoes squeaking on linoleum.

“I’m fine,” Dean grits out, managing to control his voice, his body trembling full-force.

“No, dude, you’re anything but fine.” Sam covers his shivering brother with the unnaturally warm blanket, tucking it around him. “But you will be. It’s gonna be okay.”

Dean relaxes under the heat, body untensing, eyes slipping closed. He curls around the oxygen tube, bending his face towards the cool air.

After a long minute, just when Sam’s settled in his chair and is convinced Dean’s fallen asleep, Dean looks up, licks his chapped lips. “Don’t go.” His voice is quiet, vulnerable despite its deep roughness. His eyes flit around the room, refusing to make eye contact, as he adds in an embarrassed mumble, “don’t wanna be alone.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Sam grins reassuringly. “I’m not going anywhere. Get some sleep, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean grunts, pulling the towel-wrapped tube closer to his chest, dragging it under the sheet with him, bending his head over the oxygen.

Sam props his foot on a corner of the bed, elevating his sprained ankle, as he watches his brother. Burrowed under the blanket, curled partly on his side, Dean looks impossibly young as sleep and residual anesthetic erase two decades of growing up too fast with way too much responsibility. Sam watches as his brother’s blanket-covered arm pulls the tube even closer to his body, fingers rubbing the rough edge of the terry cloth like a small child seeking comfort.

Tears prickle his eyes. Dean doesn’t deserve Hell by a long shot. Sam knows Dean isn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, breaking more laws than Sam cares to count and screwing girls left and right, but he knows beyond shadow of a doubt that all the good Dean’s done, his selflessness, his compassion, his loyalty — even his sheer stupid-bravery — far outweigh the petty crimes. Dean’s willingly going to Hell because of his virtues, not his sins.

“I’m the reason you’re in this mess,” Sam whispers to his brother. “And I’m gonna be the one to get you out of it. I promise.”


End file.
